Fire and Ice
by chromeknickers
Summary: A collection of drabbles and ficlets featuring the original fire and ice couple, Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley. Mainly written for challenges; from AU to canon-based, humour to more humour, and a dash of romance. *Bedlam ficlet - psychological thriller (teaser for chaptered fic).
1. Fire and Ice

**A/N**: Here's my collection of Fire & Ice drabbles, written mainly for challenges. I hope you enjoy them. (They do get better as they go, I promise.)

* * *

Fire and Ice

**.**

**.**

The girl was fire, hot and unpredictable, and everyone knew that if you were foolish enough to dance within her flames you were going to get burnt. It was inevitable. But she was more than fire; she was an inferno, a passion ebbing and flowing like the tide. She destroyed as she consumed, never sated until all the oxygen was spent.

He—he was ice; a slow-moving glacier that stubbornly refused to erode in the salty sea that bore him. He was calculating and precise, always one step ahead, never allowing himself to be caught by the hands of time. And while he might have looked perfect on the outside, his scars were many, hidden deep within his core, and like his heart they remained untouched.

So when he first met her—_truly_ met her—he found her to be weak, unable to resist the fleeting chance of hope. She would burn for her misplaced faith, of that he was certain, but there was something in her eyes that gave him pause. And then one day he no longer wished to stand outside the fire. He wanted to feel it burn.

She never knew him to be anything but callous—a man who gave nothing and risked nothing. His eyes, like his heart, were encased in ice: cold and unmoving, unreachable. He was strong, though, she would give him that. He was a monolith alone in the sea, and though she couldn't explain why, she no longer wished to destroy him. Instead she became hellbent on showing him the difference between life _tried_ and life _survived_.

And so the two combated against each other like rival elements do, vying for dominance and preparing to consume each other until nothing was left. But it is important to note that fire cannot be so easily doused and ice can survive the onslaught of time.

* * *

**Prompt:** Fire and Ice by Robert Frost  
**Challenge:** Shifting Point of View  
**Word Count:** 304


	2. Cheers

Cheers

**.**

**.**

"Oh, now this is cute!" Ginny held up a tiny one-piece suit with a bunny hood. "Isn't this adorable, Draco?"

"Adorable," he agreed dryly, looking about the shop like a man plotting his escape route.

Ginny set down the outfit and put a hand to her hip, giving her husband a pointed look. Draco knew what that look meant; she had given him that look many times over the course of their courtship and marriage, and it never boded well.

"What do you want me to do—comment on the cut of the fabric?" He opened his arms wide in supplication. "It's less than two feet of cloth, Gin."

"Draco—" she folded her arms beneath her breasts "—you agreed to come shopping with me, did you not?"

"I did." He stuffed his fists into his pockets and proceeded to sulk. "But I thought you'd be shopping for lingerie and slinky dresses, not nappies and bibs."

"I'm not buying nappies!" Ginny huffed, and then lowered her voice, "I just wanted to get some cute outfits for Rose." She uncrossed her arms and walked over to another rack. "And you promised to come with before we met Ron and Hermione for dinner tonight."

She had him there. He _had_ promised. Draco made a sort of non-committal sound at the back of his throat and resignedly skulked about the racks.

"Honestly, what will you do when it comes time to shop for Draco junior?"

Ginny casually glanced over her shoulder, and Draco stood frozen for a moment before stumbling forward as he choked on his own phlegm. Recovered, he shot a glance at his wife, who was eyeing him quite critically; waiting to jack-knife on him should he not respond to her liking.

"Firstly—" he cleared his throat "—I would never christen our child _junior_. Although I am quite pleased that you are aiming for a boy." He smirked approvingly while Ginny glowered. "Secondly, I would hire someone to do the shopping for us. We'd have at least one nanny."

Ginny frowned. "But don't you want to participate in our child's upbringing?" He bottom lip jutted out in a spectacular pout. "I don't like the idea of hiring people to care for our children."

"Gin, we aren't even pregnant yet," he said, exasperated.

"_We_?" Ginny gave him another pointed look, and Draco muttered to himself.

"Yes, well there's no point in discussing this right now, right _here_." He glanced furtively about the crowded shop before returning his attention to his wife.

Ginny clucked her tongue, failing to meet his gaze, and went back to busying herself with baby clothes. As she began to hum lullabies to herself, Draco frowned. He didn't like this avoidance tactic one bit, and suddenly a frightful thought suddenly seized him.

"Wait, you're not pregnant—_are you_?"

**.**

**.**

**.**

"Congratulations, Malfoy!" Ron handed Draco a beer, a devilish smirk playing on his lips.

"Why are you smiling?" Draco asked bitterly, taking the drink. "I knocked up your baby sister."

Ron's grin only widened. "True, and when we're alone I'm going to beat the living shit out of you, but this all still works out in my favour."

Draco was afraid to ask. "How?"

"Well—" Ron's eyes went mad "—I know first-hand the hell that you're going to experience for the next nine months."

Draco blanched. "So—so you mean she's going to be even _crazier_ than she is right now?"

"Oh yeah! And get ready cause she is going to blame you for _everything_." He raised his mug in cheers. "Welcome to the club."

Draco felt his stomach drop out, but he quickly squared his shoulders and raised his glass in toast. "We few, we happy few . . ."

* * *

**Prompt**: Must contain a spectacle, must contain a line from a published literary work.  
**My line:** Shakespeare's Henry V (4.3.35): _'We few, we happy few, we band of brothers'_.  
**Word Count:** 686


	3. Obsession

Obsession

**.**

**.**

He carefully traced the outline of her face in the photograph; his fingers caressing the glossy paper as though it were skin. It was one of his few eccentric indulgences her permitted, and something he only did when he thought was alone.

Over the years he would lock himself in his study, poring over old letters and photographs from his school days. There he would sit and sift and stare, lost in youthful memories. But it was always that picture he would focus on the most, spending hours gazing at her face, familiarising himself with features he remembered all too well.

The photograph itself was old, worn with age and touch. It had the look of a possession that was both cherished and abused, folded too many times to count. In its cracked and faded lines was the face of a young girl who had yet to be encumbered by the trials of life. It was a lovely face; oval and set with large almond eyes and a warm, inviting smile—a smile that hid a secret—and crowned atop her head was a long and flowing scarlet mane. Untamed.

It was an honest face, a lovely face, and for a long time I had no idea who she was. I didn't care to know. That is until I saw her—saw the reincarnation of her, if you will—when she was only eleven years old. It was the same red hair, the same big, brown eyes, the same freckles, the same pirate smile.

It wasn't for several years when this mirror image of an old, faded photograph turned into a young woman that I finally understood my father's obsession. He had traced the outline of her face in a photograph because it was the only way he could touch her; it was all that he had of her, all that she had given him.

And for the first time in my life I felt truly sorry for my father. Perhaps the picture was enough for him. Perhaps it was all he needed to keep sane. But in my heart I knew this was not so. My father would be forever bound to this girl in the photograph... just as I am to her daughter.

* * *

**Prompt: **Use the following sentence (in some form) at the start of your drabble: _"Tracing the outline of her [or his] face from a photograph..."_  
**Challenge**: Describe your pairing of choice through the eyes of a third person.  
**Word Count: **371


	4. Quidditch and Firewhisky

Quidditch and Firewhisky

**.**

**.**

It had first developed as a friendship, oddly enough—this _thing_ between Ginny Weasley and Draco Malfoy. Of course, referring to their unlikely (and often cited as _unholy_) relationship as a thing was a delightful euphemism in comparison to what Ron called it (something along the lines of unholy abomination, but with a lot of swearing mixed in).

It had all begun when Ginny joined the Holyhead Harpies. Draco's company had recently bought the team and the business venturing blond was looking to make his mark in the industry. Thus, crossing paths with the lioness was inevitable.

To say that the first meeting between the two was a congenial affair would be to tell a bold-faced lie. They instantly flew at each other, hurling insults, threats, and even hexes. After some friendly-fire casualties on three separate occasions, a concerted effort was taken on behalf of the entire Quidditch team (and league, if you were to ask them) to quell the apparent hostility between the bickering duo.

The man who rose to the occasion—Ginny's agent and Draco's best friend—was Blaise Zabini, who somehow managed to settle the rift with a vast amount of Firewhisky. The former arch nemeses soon discovered, some several hundred shots later, that they had a few things in common: mainly their love of Quidditch and Firewhisky.

The two had even begun to train together. Draco's gift for the sport hadn't waned, and the Harpies had allowed him to play the occasional practice game (he did pay their salaries, after all). Ginny didn't mind, as the supercilious blond kept her on her toes. But perhaps they had become too comfortable with one another, as Ron would constantly and vehemently point out...

**.**

**.**

**.**

"What time will you pick me up?"

Ginny slammed her locker door shut and turned in Draco's direction. The two were alone in the unisex changing room. Both had shared another long, sweaty practice together, preparing for Ginny's game later that night. It was customary for Draco to take her out on a 'date' for drinks the night before a game.

"10 AM."

Draco sauntered out of the showers with a towel wrapped around his torso. He then strolled over to the large mirror and began to preen himself while Ginny placed a hand on her hip, narrowing her eyes on the self-absorbed blond.

"That's not a date!"

"Yes, it is." He offered the redhead a wink before he leisurely strolled back to his locker. "It's an all day date."

Ginny raised an eyebrow and suddenly lunged forward, grabbing the towel that hung around Draco's waist. Effortlessly yanking it off, she began spin it around until it grew taut.

"Weasley," Draco warned, raising his hands defensively in the air, "don't you dare—"

Much to the blond's horror, Ginny drew back the towel and snapped it at his naked arse.

"_When_ are you picking me up, Malfoy?" she asked with a grin.

Draco, unabashed by his own nudity, turned around to face her and took a step forward. "How about _now_, Weasley?"

"Draco!"

She tried to run, but it was too late. The date had already begun.

* * *

**Prompt:** Quidditch  
**Challenge:** Add the following bit of dialogue into your story:  
_"What time will you pick me up?"  
"10 AM"  
"That's not a date!"  
"Yes, it is. It's an all day date."  
_**Word Count:** 526


	5. To Err Is Human

To Err Is Human

**.**

**.**

_Ginny,_

_I always wanted to be someone special. _

_A childish, narcissistic, self-indulgent wish, as you would put it, but that's always been me, hasn't it? Deep down I knew I was nothing special, but this didn't stop me from becoming obsessed and envious of those who were. _

_So I began to covet what wasn't mine in the hopes of capturing just a glimpse of that fleeting glory that would never be mine. And while my desire to capture my own star didn't start with you, it certainly ended—with you._

_In the beginning it really wasn't about loving someone but being adored. I used you, not even knowing how special you were in your own right, or what you'd come to mean to me. I was blind and I was selfish. _

_I am a man, after all._

_Once you left, I realised what I had lost—what I had so foolishly given up. But isn't that always the way? You never know what you have until it's gone, and you never understand regret until you have experienced true happiness. _

_You were that happiness. _

_I want you to know that even back then, when I was a hopeless berk, I loved you. But I knew that kind of love would never be enough. You deserve someone so much better than me and I'm glad you finally found someone to make you happy— _

_I just wish it could have been me._

_~Draco_

**.**

**.**

**.**

"Mummy, what's dis?"

Ginny sat down at the end of her bed and watched as her daughter padded into the bedroom, a piece of parchment dangling from her plump fingertips—a piece of parchment she had obviously absconded from her father's study.

She couldn't help but laugh as she imagined the three-year-old rooting through her father's desk drawers, retrieving business letters with which she would later scribble on in crayon. Wiping the grin from her face, Ginny held out her palm in an authoritative manner, waiting for her daughter to hand her the letter.

Once in hand, Ginny's brow creased as her eyes focussed on the writing. Her eyes misted over in the dimming light as she read; only diverted by her daughter's urging voice.

"Who dat from, Mummy?" The tiny redhead climbed onto her mother's lap. She was still too young to speak properly, let alone read.

"Yes, Mummy, 'who dat from'?" her husband mimicked from the doorway.

He stepped past the threshold, undoing his cufflinks before scooping his daughter into his arms. She snuggled into the crook of his neck, smelling his sweet cologne, and he gently kissed the top of her head. Seating her on his lap, he sat down next to his wife and began reading the parchment she held loosely in her hands.

"Oh, it's the letter from that _berk_," he muttered, frowning as he noted the signature.

Ginny looked up at her husband in shock. She was about to speak up when her daughter interrupted.

"Daddy, what buh-erk? What buh-erk?" She stared up at her father with intent, grey eyes.

"Someone Daddy used to be before he fell in love with Mummy," he answered swiftly, noting the pointed look his wife was giving him. "And who is very grateful of Mummy's big heart and ability to forgive someone like me."

Ginny smiled and brought a hand to her husband's face, brushing the wisps of white-blond hair from his grey eyes. "Mummy can't help but forgive the _only_ someone who's ever truly made her happy."

They kissed gently, eyes closed in bliss as their daughter crawled about their laps.

"And Daddy will never forget how special Mummy makes him feel."

* * *

**Prompt:** _betray - to lead astray, deceive_  
**Challenge:** You must add this bit of narration in the format of a letter/note in your drabble: _I'm glad you finally found someone to make you happy. I just wish it could have been me.  
_**Bonus:** a twist.  
**Word Count:** 716

_*How one interprets the prompt can be the prompt itself. ;)_


	6. Snogging in a Tube Station

Snogging in a Tube Station

**.**

**.**

Ginny had seen him at the bar, laughing with his mates. She didn't even know that he was capable of laughter, or having mates. But in between 'birthday' shots he would steal a glance at her, trying to capture her attention, and then he would do something unexpected, like smile.  
She wondered why he was there. He didn't seem the type to roam the streets of Muggle London let alone visit a small bar like this one. She thought it best not to dwell on the subject so, after a few more drinks, she finally bid her mates adieu and headed towards the tube station.

Ginny never Apparated whilst intoxicated; she was deeply terrified of splinching. As she preferred her limbs attached to her body, she always took the train on nights like this.

"Hey, Weasley!" a voice yelled from behind her. (Well, it sounded more like 'eh, wheely!')

Ginny turned to see an extremely inebriated Draco Malfoy staggering towards her. She raised an eyebrow in surprise and he stopped short in front of her. He sniffed arrogantly and drew himself up to full height, which was considerable in comparison to her petite frame.

"Hullo," he said awkwardly, swaying on his feet. He seemed uncomfortable yet surprisingly jovial, so unlike his former prat self in school. It was unnerving.

Ginny was about to reply when something caught her eye and she promptly walked past him. Bending down, she picked up a small object and smiled. It was a black ball with a white circle in the middle, labelled with the number eight.

"What's that?" Draco eyed the dirty thing a frown.

"It's a Magic 8 Ball. Hermione showed one once."

"Magic?" He looked at it sceptically before holding out his hand. "Gimme that."

"One sec." She turned her back to him and stealthily took her wand from out her pocket. "I just need to wipe off the dirt."

Pointing her wand at the ball, she whispered a spell and then dusted the thing off before turning around to hand it over to Malfoy.

"What do I do with it?" he asked, blinking rapidly as he tried to focus.

"You ask it a question and then shake it." She pointed to the small window. "Your answer will appear at the top."

Draco grinned and rested the ball against his chest. "Will Weasley come over to my place and offer me a birthday shag?"

Ginny let out a snort of disgust, and Draco's grin only widened. He shook the ball and then glanced down, watching the small white dice rise to the surface.

_Not likely_, it read.

"Why not?" He shook the ball angrily. "_Because you're a degenerate creature of darkness_," he read slowly, and then growled. "Stupid magic ball knows nothing!"

Ginny doubled over in laughter. "Want to ask it another question?"

"No," he sulked, and casually threw the ball over his shoulder. "I think it was trying to tell me that I should start off slow."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah." He reached over and brazenly grabbed her by the waist, pulling her in close. "Maybe I should just settle for a snog in the tube station."

"The situation doesn't look hopefully," Ginny said with a laugh, after launching a Stupifying spell at Malfoy.

But it was a valiant effort on his part.

* * *

**A/N:** This isn't my best work. It was originally almost 1500 words in length. I had to cut it down, a lot. Also, I made mention to Draco's birthday, which is today (5 June)! ^_^

**Prompt: **Notting Hill Gate (picture of the tube station).  
**Challenge: **Add a Magic 8 Ball type toy to your drabble in which the answer to your character's question is: "Not likely. You're a degenerate creature of darkness."  
**Word count:** 583


	7. I Am A Rock

I Am A Rock

**.**

**.**

"_You_, sir, are an island."

The phrase comes out of nowhere, which is typical coming from her.

"A what?" I ask dumbly, raising the tumbler of Firewhisky to my lips.

She stares quite levelly at me and does this little twitchy thing with her nose, which would be considered adorable if I didn't already suspect that she was in a foul mood.

"An island," she repeats with obvious annoyance. "You're a bloody island!" She drains her glass in one long gulp and then slams it down on the table for emphasis.

I shake with the vibrations of the action and raise my hand to signal the waiter. He returns with another tumbler of Firewhisky, and she greedily takes it.

"I'm quite aware of what an island is, Ginny," I begin with a hint of condescension, knowing that I have just opened myself up for abuse, "but why exactly am _I_ an island?"

She gives me that look, the kind of look that would make most men run, but I'm not most men and I certainly don't give a whit about the supposed consequences of my impertinence. She's drunk, I'm drunk; I'd like to see where this conversation is heading.

"Men, _the whole lot of you_, are emotionless fuckwits."

I snort. "Fuckwits?"

She nods emphatically. Her slender fingers are wrapped tightly around the tumbler, all except her index finger, which she is using to point at me with deliberate intensity.

"_You_ especially, i-in p-particular, are an island," she slurs, taking a sip. "You try to act so cool and aloof, like you don't care about anything or anyone!"

She prattles on, mainly ranting about my communications issues, and I ponder her metaphor. In my opinion, all men are islands. And what's more, now is the time to be one. This is an island age. I mean, what else have we men to combat against these bipolar women except to retreat onto our own personal islands, our own caves of solitude? I'd suggest a united front on the issue, but it would only turn the island metaphor into a peninsula and that wouldn't help the analogy at all.

"So you want me to care?" I finally ask, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

Weasley—Ginny, as she makes me call her—and I have been forming this tenuous friendship over the past several months. And while I am accustomed to dealing with temper-fuelled Ginny, I must frankly admit that I'm not exactly sure how to handle this emotionally charged Ginny sitting in front of me.

Are all women like this? If so, Merlin help us all.

"I'd just like to see you more in touch with your feminine side." She raises her glass, leaning back in her chair with some odd self-satisfied smirk settling on her lips, and I sneer, ready to tip the scales.

"So you're saying you want to see me bursts into tears every time something goes wrong?"

Her eyes flash darkly (with murderous intent would be more accurate, though not nearly as poetic) and she mutters a few colourful expletives under her breath before looking away. It's obvious that I did not respond with the answer she wanted to hear and I'm too annoyed with her right now to care. Instead, I decide to be a deliberate berk about the whole damn thing and pick at her emotional scabs.

"Is this really about me, Weasley?" I ask. "Or is this about Potter?"

Every man is an island; I stand by that. But clearly some men are island _chains_. Underneath they are connected by heavy burdens that weigh not only themselves down but those around them. Potter, surprisingly, has this 'quality' in spades. And there was no doubt that his augmented hero complex combined with his morose personality was dragging Ginny under.

"He asked me to marry him." She turns way so that she doesn't meet my eye.

It comes right out of left field, punching me in the gut, and this time I don't laugh or scowl or even cluck my tongue in disapproval. No, this time it hurts.

* * *

**Prompt: **Incorporate the following quote into your story, whether it be in dialogue, narration, or thought: _In my opinion, all men are islands. And what's more, now's the time to be one. This is an island age.*_ However, the general feeling MUST be there. No moving the words around to suit your needs.  
**Challenge: **In addition to the quote above, add this to your drabble: _Every man is an island. I stand by that. But clearly some men are island CHAINS. Underneath, they are connected..._  
**Word Count:** 700

*Hugh Grant on _About A Boy_.


	8. Don't Sweat the Small Ads

Don't Sweat The Small Ads

**.**

**.**

"My Quidditch career is over!"

Ginny let out a dramatic sigh before burying her face in her hands. Her elbows gave out, allowing her face to connect with the table with a soft thud.

"Weasley, you lost _one_ game," Draco drawled, sitting down beside her. "There's no need to resort to histrionics."

"But it was _my_ fault we lost!" she cried in a muffled voice. Her right cheek was squashed against the table's surface, painting a rather pathetic picture.

"Really? I always thought there was more than one player on a team."

"You know what I mean." Ginny groaned, forcing herself to sit upright. "I performed poorly. The Harpies are bound to sack me."

Draco shook his head in exasperation before reaching over to grab the local paper. The two had been staying in a hotel in London for the past several days while Draco met with corporate sponsors and a free agent looking to sign up with the Harpies. Ginny had agreed to come along at Draco's insistence. He had assured her that the trip would help her get over her melancholy at the Holyhead Harpies' lost chance at competing for the League Cup.

"Well, I guess we had better look for a new job for you, then," he said with forced sigh, flipping through the paper.

"The small ads?" Ginny was already looking over his shoulder, scrunching up her face in a rather unattractive manner. "What have the small ads of a Muggle paper to offer me job-wise?"

"I dunno. Why don't we find out, Weasley." After flipping a few more pages towards the back, he finally found what he was looking for. "Here we go: _**Nemesis wanted**__**.**__ Stenographer by day, superhero by night. Interests include crime-fighting, kayaking, and cricket. Arch-rival must be megalomaniac mastermind or mutant freak_."

"Give me that!" Ginny snapped, as she reached over and tore the paper from Draco's hand.

She rolled her eyes when she saw that there was no such advert, and considered handing the paper back to him when a wanted ad caught her eye.

"Look here: _**Wanted.**_ _Man to take care of cow that does not smoke or drink_." She looked up from the paper and smirked. "You like non-smokers, don't you, Malfoy?"

"Yes, and while I like an honest women, I'm not entirely plugged into self-deprecating humour." Ginny knitted her brow in a nonplussed manner. "I don't really fancy a girl who refers to herself a _cow_," he clarified.

Ginny rolled her eyes but could not prevent the grin that formed on her lips. Draco then reached over and snatched the paper from her hands.

"Okay, so there doesn't appear to be many jobs here, but let's see if there are any millionaires looking for _has-been _red-haired Quidditch players in the personals."

"Personals?" Ginny stuck out her tongue in disgust. "Ugh, if you're describing your personality in thirty words or less, it means you haven't much of one."

"And that certainly explains why Potter uses them," Draco commented casually, as he shook out the paper.

"What?" Ginny's eyes narrowed on the blond, whose smirk only intensified before he made a non-committal sound at the back of his throat. "Ah, here we go! _**Good-looking**__, athletic, millionaire playboy seeks gullible stunner_."

"No way!" Ginny's eyes widened and she leaned forward. "Where does it say that?"

Her enthusiasm was dashed the moment she saw that once again there had been no such advert, and that once again had she been duped by the sneaky Slytherin. Draco could only snort at the redhead's predictability, and Ginny responded in kind by lunging forward with both hands to shove Draco off his seat.

Draco easily caught Ginny's hands and leaned forward, capturing her open mouth with a kiss. Her eyes widened in shock for a moment before closing them, giving in to his touch. His lips were soft and warm, pressing into her mouth with unnerving grace. His fingers traced along her jaw, sending shivers down her spine, and she was hazily aware of his lips twitching upwards into a grin as they were pressed tightly against her mouth. The tips of his fingers finally met with the bottom of her lip and he drew back, allowing her to take in air.

Ginny slowly blinked her eyes open, unconsciously licking at her lips. She tried to open her mouth to speak but found that no words would come out. Instead, she looked down at the paper and cleared her throat, pushing it towards Draco.

"So, hey, check out the Lost and Found category." She blushed, seeing that damn smirk still lingering on his lips. "_**Lost:**__ Virginity_."

Draco waggled a pale eyebrow in jest and stood up, yanking Ginny to her feet and drawing her lithe body into his. "Why don't we put that theory to test?"

* * *

**Prompt: **Use the following as a headline for a newspaper clipping: _Wanted. Man to take care of cow that does not smoke or drink._  
**Challenge:** Your character is looking through the personals section.  
**Word Count:** 878


	9. Sand Castles

Sand Castles

**.**

**.**

The sky was blue; dark blue and cold. The wind whistled as it gathered fallen leaves and tossed them in the air, filling his lungs with the crisp, musky fragrance of autumn. The dark green ocean roared in front of him, crashing wave after wave against the moss-laden cliffs only to retreat along a golden strip of sand.

A tiny red-haired girl—maybe four—was playing on the edge of the silky line of foam, zig-zagging her way back and forth across the beach, daring the waves to lick at her ankles. She let out a peal of laughter mixed with fright when the water did just that, splashing up along her shins, tickling at her knees. Her laughter petered off as she ran from the beach towards him.

Her wide, soft brown eyes fleetingly glanced upwards and met his cool grey. She stopped suddenly in her tracks, frozen. She had not seen him approach and was taken aback by his presence. She was dressed in a pale yellow sundress; it's hem fluttering languidly in the breeze. Her feet were bare, covered with sand, and a smudge of dirt lined both cheeks. She brought a tiny hand to wipe the mud away; and when her cheeks were the semblance of clean, he saw a faint smattering of freckles light up her otherwise pale face.

She wasn't a dirty child—grubby with stains on her clothing. In fact she looked freshly scrubbed, as though dressed up for tea. Grains of sand speckled up and down her shins belied her clean Sunday attire, as she looked as though she had just spent hours digging in the mud with guilty hands—hands that had dirtied her alabaster skin.

He quietly glanced past her towards the beach, his face blank, and noted the misshapen castle that she had been building in the sand. It had slowly begun to deteriorate with the incoming tide.

"Hullo," she greeted abruptly, with a steady voice that was both sweet and mellifluous—carrying in the wind. There was no fear in her eyes, only curiosity.

Boldly, she took a step towards him, then another. He took a step back in response. It wasn't that he was shy or afraid; he was unsure, of her and himself. He was unaccustomed to interacting with children his age. As an only child he was rarely afforded the opportunity to play with others, and he didn't know if he could place nicely. He didn't know why he even cared.

With no adults present, he was unsure of how to act, so he had thought it best to ignore her and head back to his mother. But there was something about the way she moved, the way the sunlight hit her hair, framing her head like a golden-red halo. And then there were those freckles...

"Wot's your name?" Her head was tilted to the side, almost coquettishly, as she laced her fingers together behind her back. "I Ginny."

She smiled, and he took in a deep breath and frowned. He considered not answering her, but the genuine sincerity in her voice and the brightness of her eyes caused him to hesitate.

"Draco." He shifted uncomfortable on his feet before lifting his arms to cross over his chest.

She let out a soft giggle and released her hands, squishing her toes in the sand. "I haven't seen you before."

She skipped towards him, stopping only a foot away. He almost took another step back but decided to hold his ground. Unfolding his arms, he let them dangle at his sides.

"Mama has a cottage here," he said stiffly, looking over the top of her head at the tumultuous sea.

She glanced back over her shoulder, following his gaze, then turned around to meet his eyes. "Wanna help wif the sand castle?"

She reached out to grab his hand, and he recoiled at first. But she was persistent—or at least she didn't notice or seem to care that he didn't want to be touched. Instead, she took his hand and, with some resistance, began to lead him onto the beach towards her sand castle that had all but disintegrated.

She knelt down beside it, digging her pale knees into the wet sand. He observed her work for a moment, standing over her like a mute supervisor. Then the tide washed in, and he jumped back, refusing to let his shoes get wet. He watched as the water licked at her skin and her meagre sand castle, threatening to destroy what little was left.

"Make it over here," he ordered, pointing to a section of beach that was much farther away from the receding tide—safe and fortified.

She ignored his autocratic tone and jumped to her feet. Pausing briefly to cast him a winning smile, she ran over to the spot he suggested. Not bothering to wipe the mud from her knees and shins, she just plopped back down in the sand again and began building mounds of dirt—towers for her sand castle. She stopped working and turned her head, glancing up at him, and waited patiently for him to join in.

He let out a frustrated sigh and walked over. Pushing up his sleeves and pulling up his short trousers on reflex, he knelt beside the redhead in the soft, wet sand. He cupped his hands and began to gather dirt, pushing his pile towards hers. He built the towers high, and she seemed to approve. She brought a dirty hand to her cheek and turned her head to offer him a toothy grin.

Squinting his eyes against the sunlight, he watched her vermilion hair flutter like a banner in the breeze, blazing brightly in the haze of the light. He ignored the dirt on her nose and cheeks and traced the outline of her oval face with his stony eyes, memorising the contours and every single cinnamon-coloured freckle that dotted her dirty nose and cheeks. He did this to familiarise himself with her, to remember the freckled red-haired girl. The little girl named Ginny: Draco Malfoy's first friend.

* * *

**Prompt:** October (autumn or spring)  
**Challenge:** Find the beauty _or_ the ugliness in the season.  
**Word Count: **1,000


	10. Draco, Draco, Let Down Your Hair

Draco, Draco, Let Down Your Hair

**.**

**.**

"Draco, Draco, let down your hair, so that I may climb the golden stair."

_Huh?_

Draco's eyes popped open, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. He lay atop a single bed in a tiny room with walls made of bare stone. In front of the bed was a window wide enough for him to crawl through, though this view did not afford treetops but a cloud-filled sky stretching as far as the eye could see.

"Malfoy!" came a shrill and distant voice. "Let down your damn hair so I can climb up it!"

Draco jumped out of bed and ran over to the window. Opening the shutters, he peered down to see the outline of what looked to be a small red-haired girl dressed in full armour (minus the helmet, of course) standing beside a white steed.

Squinting, his vision focussed on the odd girl's face; the freckles and bright vermilion hair were unmistakable. "Weasley?"

The girl let out an audible sigh before cupping her gloved hands on either side of her mouth and bellowed, "Malfoy! I can't bloody well save you unless you let down your hair for me to climb!"

Draco blinked, nonplussed. "My hair?"

He could faintly hear Weasley mumble something about stupid blonds and then she placed her hands upon her hips, impatiently rocking them back and forth. Draco brought a hand to his silver blond locks; his fingers travelled down the length, expecting it to end at the nape of his neck. It did not. Horrified, Draco secured both fists around a thick braid of hair and swung it around his shoulder. At his feet was a heap of platinum blond hair, much like a bundle of rope.

"Malfoy! Throw it down already!"

"Alright, alright!" he barked, frustrated.

Draco bent down to gather up his roll of hair and, with a concerted effort, he lifted the pile of hair from the floor and edged his way to the open window. With a grunt he piled the hair on the sill before shoving it off, letting his hair fall down the length of the tower and right into Weasley's eager hands. Wasting little time, the redhead (in full armour, mind you) grabbed a hold of his hair and pushed off, skilfully climbing up the blond braid as though it were rope.

"Salazar's left nut!" Draco cursed; his head violently jerked forward by the redhead's weight. "Steady on, Weasley! You're pulling out my bloody hair!" Having someone use your hair as a climbing rope wasn't nearly as whimsical as it sounded. It gave him a right awful headache.

"Quit your whinging, Blondie!" Weasley grunted, as she neared the window entrance and climbed inside. The sound of armour clattering to the floor only made Draco's headache worse as the petite witch stumbled inside.

"So what now?" He began to pull his hair back inside the tower as Weasley wiped the invisible dirt off her heavy armour.

"Uh—" she glanced about the small room"—we'll tie your hair around the bedpost here, then shimmy down it."

Draco watched in horror as she pantomimed shimmying down his hair off the side of a dangerously high tower.

"_Shimmy down_? How do you propose _I _get to the bottom, Weasley?"

The redhead brought an armoured glove to her lip and pondered on the notion for a moment. "Eh, I'll just throw you down onto my horse."

"_Throw me down_? Weasley, you are insane! I demand you leave immediately!"

"Malfoy, _Malfoy_, I was just kidding." She sniggered, holding up her hands in silent surrender. "I will lower you down by your hair."

"That doesn't sound like a much better option," he said with a frown; a pale eyebrow raised in distrust.

"Well, it's that or I throw you out the window." She then motioned to the open window with a flourish, and Draco sneered.

"I'd like to see you try, She-Weasel."

Weasley made to advance, and Draco jumped back in alarm. After a full minute of giggling—on Weasley's part—Draco attempted to regain his composure.

"Why exactly do I have to go with you?" He was beginning to wonder why Weasley had to climb up his hair to get in the bloody tower to begin with.

"Cause I am the only one who can save you from the evil enchantress," she said, as though it was the most obvious explanation.

"_Evil enchantress_?"

Just then a dreadful wail erupted from the castle below, and both Draco and Weasley froze in horror.

"Go, go, go!"

Weasley pushed Draco towards the window as she grabbed a hold of his hair, tying it the bedpost. Then she began to lower Draco down the side of the tower until he safely reached the ground. Grabbing a pair of shears on the sewing table, Weasley put them between her teeth and jumped out the window, sliding all the way down Draco's hair until she toppled on top of him.

"I _hate_ you, Weasley!" Draco cursed from underneath the armoured Weasley, weakly trying to shove her off.

Weasley sat up, crushing Draco with the weight of her armour in the process, and grabbed a hold of Draco's hair. Taking the scissors from her mouth, she quickly lopped off his hair, leaving a long silver-blond plait dangling alongside the tower.

Just then, another loud roar erupted from within the castle, and both Draco and Weasley scrambled to their feet. Weasley quickly hoisted Draco up onto the saddle, but in his eagerness to steady the mount—or Weasley's brute strength—Draco fell off the horse, landing his head on a rock.

Weasley quickly rushed to his side, armour clanking. "Malfoy, are you okay?"

**.**

**.**

**.**

"Malfoy, are you okay?"

Draco awoke to the sound of Weasley's voice and the sight of her wand pointed at his face.

"Weasley?" he croaked, eyeing her wand warily, which she quickly put away. "What happened? Where am I? Where's the evil enchantress?"

"_Evil enchantress_?" Weasley repeated, casting Draco a worried look. "Malfoy, a trapdoor fell on your head while you were chasing after our escaped prisoner. You were knocked out cold."

Draco rubbed at his sore head as reality quickly sank in—memories of his past, his job as an Auror, and his new partnership with Ginny Weasley. "And the prisoner?" He glanced up at the open attic door and the golden rope stairs that led inside.

"I managed to capture the rogue witch—or evil enchantress as you call her—while you were busy lying in your own drool," she answered, absently wiping the dust off his robes, which he quickly shoved away in annoyance.

"How?"

Weasley shrugged indifferently, but there was a hint of a smirk on her lips. "Oh, I just pushed her out the window."

* * *

******Author's Notes:** I wrote this in ten minutes!

**Prompt:** Retelling a fairy tale, Potter style.  
**Fairy Tale Chosen**: Rapunzel  
**Word Count:** 1,166


	11. Smile

Smile

**.**

**.**

_"I want to seal your name against my lips."_

The top of her head barely reaches his chin, and she has to stand on her toes to press a swift kiss to the hinge of his jaw.

_He brings his lips to her neck, to her wrists, to the crease behind her knees— _

He does not smile, not even the arrogant smirk that she is so accustomed to seeing his face routinely fall into. His eyes, grey and cold, lack the fine laugh lines that so plainly crease her own. She busies her hands with papers, coyly hiding her own smile behind a manila folder that she holds between her teeth.

_He worships every facet of her body like it is some pagan druid ritual, altering the rhythm of his touch with chameleon ease as he discovers exactly where, when, and how to make her shiver and moan—_

He slides onto the chair next to her and takes the folder from her mouth, ignoring the faint lip-gloss smear that her lips have left upon the paper. Long fingers separate the pages of the case file that he has been working on all day. His other hand drops beneath the table and brushes up against the inside of her thigh.

"Just because I'm not smiling doesn't mean I'm not happy," he says.

She smiles.

"I know."

* * *

**Prompt:** _"He worshipped every facet of her body like it was some pagan druid ritual, altering the rhythm of his touch with chameleon ease as he discovered exactly where, when, and how to make her shiver and moan." _(Aerileigh ~ DG Forum One Sentence Story Challenge)  
**Word Count:** 230


	12. A Silent Warning

A Silent Warning

**.**

**.**

"I'm warning you, Malfoy—" It wasn't quite a growl, but it was menacing and sharp and surprisingly full of teeth for someone of her small stature.

Draco had cornered the redhead at the end of the empty hallway; away from her friends, away from any help. And while Umbridge had ordered the Inquisitorial Squad to locate Potter and his friends, Draco couldn't explain why he had volunteered to go after Ginny Weasley by himself. He had assumed she was the weakest; he had assumed wrong.

"C'mon, She-Weasel," he said in a tone tinged with apprehension; his voice less snide than usual. "You have nowhere to go."

The girl drew her wand and laughed in his face. It was a spiteful laugh; one full of unadulterated hate and disgust. Draco wanted to slap her for her insolence, to punish her for her brazen laughter. But most of all he wanted to see the fear return to her eyes, not this bold disgust. However, the fire of hatred flickered brightly in Ginny Weasley's soft brown eyes and Draco could only stare as she deliberately pointed her wand between his eyes.

"You don't frighten me, _Malfoy_!" she said, spitting out his name like venom.

A deliberate pause hung in the air and then the sound of her voice, acrid and biting, kept repeating over and over again in his mind. His silver eyes narrowed and his grip on his wand tightened almost painfully. He hadn't yet pointed it at her. He wanted to (Merlin, yes, he wanted to), but something inside—a voice—whispered for him not to.

"I don't want to _hurt_ you, Weasley," he admitted calmly, although his tone had come off as more of a warning than a truth.

And, to be quite frank, he was shocked by it all—by his own words and the truth to them. He really didn't want to hurt the ruddy, little she-weasel; not like he wanted to hurt her brother, not like he wanted to hurt Potter. Unfortunately, however, _she_ did not feel the same way.

"Too bad, Malfoy—" her lip curled into an ugly "—because I want to hurt you."

When it happened, it happened fast; the sound of something snapping, the smell of burning wood, and the bright flash of blue light streaming from her wand. It was instant, but it was lasting—and he would never forget it.

* * *

**Challenge:** Choose ONE (1) of the following scenes in which Draco has done or is about to do something negative. Write a short drabble (100-500 words) from Draco's PoV, which illustrates his humanity in the midst of his depravity.  
**Prompt:** Ginny hexes Draco during the Inquisitorial Squad Round Up (OotP).  
**Word Count: **426

_*Written as a challenge for the Draco Characterisation Workshop on the DG Forum._


	13. One Night in Moscow

One Night in Moscow

**.**

**.**

There is one night, after a harrowing job gone bad, that the three Aurors have to take shelter from the storm. Reagan, the Auror-in-training, convinces them that they need to get lost—_fast—_and there is no better place than a Muggle village.

They're both silent, Draco and Ginny, trudging through the snowy streets of Moscow with a vengeance usually reserved for combating the darkest of wizards. Their shoulders are hunched against the wind and their hard eyes are set dead ahead as if they'd rather be anywhere else than within the same thousand kilometres of each other.

It sets Reagan's nerves on edge, and her jaw clenches around gritted teeth because Draco and Ginny are both such brilliant but _petulant_ wizards. And—dammit!—if they can't tolerate each other's spaces then they'll never find a place to spend the night and they'll end up freezing to death.

Reagan may be young but she's not stupid. She knows that they all need to work together in order to survive; she knows that the older Aurors are her mentors and she mustn't speak out of turn. But right now she's so damn frustrated with their obstinacy that she's tempted to muddle her way back home, right now, alone. Ginny must have sensed this, feeling that same frustration, for she grabs Reagan's elbow and pulls her after her through the shabby hotel door that Draco grudgingly wrenches open.

There's only one grimy, musty closet of a room available. Ginny throws her hands in the air and spins on her heel to face them, as though the accommodations were somehow _their_ fault, and Draco somehow looks smug through the disgust in his flinty grey eyes.

_Damn them both!_ Reagan thought. She was not going to let them walk away from each other like this. Not in this storm. Not with very dangerous people seeking them out. So she grabs Ginny's sleeve in one hand and the room key in the other.

Draco is all stony silence through Ginny's loud protests when Reagan throws the door open and yanks the bed sheets back. They flinch from her, wary-eyed. They always seem to be scared of her when she's this way, when she's deep and buried by her rage (putting Ginny's temper to shame).

Reagan pulls off her robes and settles them over herself like a blanket as she curls into the only comfortable-looking piece of furniture in the room: the chair. She glares at the brooding blond and the exasperated redhead and points at the mattress.

"Get into bed, the both of you! And grow the fuck up!"

They stare at her for a moment before Draco throws his robes over the bedpost. There's a dare in his face when he looks at Ginny, but he says nothing when she takes the side of the bed near Reagan's left.

When Reagan wakes the following morning, she looks over at the bed and sees Ginny's lithe body wrapped around Draco, who has pulled her in close with his arms. He has a protective hand placed on the small of Ginny's back, and they both look so content; peaceful. Not at all like the maelstrom of negative emotions that they were exhibiting last night.

"About fucking time," Reagan mumbled to herself, oddly pleased, before closing her eyes and drifting back to sleep.

* * *

**Challenge: **Write a drabble or one-shot that includes the following: 1) A spoken exchange between either Draco or Ginny with a properly conceived of/characterized OC friend; 2) Implied or overt D/G.  
**Word Count:** 562

_*Written as a challenge for The OC Workshop on the DG Forum._


	14. Bloody Gem

Bloody Gem

**.**

**.**

"Bloody—_Malfoy_! I got another text thingy!"

"Is that really important right now, Weasley?" Draco ground out, before casting another non-verbal Blinding Jinx at the tall vampire while feinting the smaller one.

Diving to the ground, Draco spread out his hands to search frantically for his fallen wand while the smaller vampire leapt towards him, the tip of his boot connecting with Draco's jaw. The blond let loose a slew of curses, both spells and vituperations, sending the vampire flying backwards.

"It could be Harry!" Ginny reasoned fervently, fiddling with the phone. "It could be important!"

Draco gave the redhead a withered look—the kind that asked what could be more important than him fighting for his life?—when the taller vampire, now recovered, grabbed Draco by the neck and hoisted him off the ground.

"Bit. More. Pressing. Here," Draco managed to choke out, before hitting the tall vampire with another spell and falling flat on his arse.

"Not really." Ginny finished reading the text and snapped the phone shut. "It's not Harry. It's a message from the mobile phone provider." She slipped the Muggle device into her pocket. "They'll offer us a discount on our next bill if we recommend others to join, quote, 'the largest mobile community'."

Draco stood up and dusted himself off. "What, the gypsies?"

Ginny gave him a confused looked until she saw the smaller vampire lunging at him. "Look out!"

Draco instinctively turned around and managed to dodge the assault while casting a non-verbalIncendio. The vampire instantly burst into flames, disintegrating into dust.

"Yes, thank you for saying 'look out' instead of using your wand to actually HELP ME!" he barked, now dusting ashes off his suit in utter disgust.

"Right, sorry." Ginny grinned sheepishly and withdrew her wand, flicking a rapid fire spell at the taller vampire, killing it instantly. "You know, it's your own fault for dropping your wand."

"You're absolutely right, Weasley." Draco bent down to retrieve his wand. "Next time I will let the vampire bite you."

Ginny rolled her eyes and then looked down at her blouse, which was covered in blood and ashes, and grimaced. "Ugh, I'm _so_ glad I left my Quidditch career for _this_!"

"Left?" Draco snorted. "I heard you were sacked because of your bum knee."

"Sod off!'

"Mouth, Weasley."

"Fist, Malfoy."

"Hold that blow, Weaselette." Draco raised his hand. "We're here."

Ginny frowned, glancing up at the large house. "Are you sure the gem is here?"

"The sources say that it was excavated in Sunnydale, California by a vampire named Spike." Draco jogged up the stone steps. "The gem was then recovered by the Slayer, who ended up taking it to Los Angeles and giving it to another vampire, Angelus."

"The _Slayer_ gave the Gem of Amarra to a _vampire_?"

Draco shrugged and then proceeded to knock on the door. After a moment, it swung open and a tall, handsome vampire answered.

"Can I help you?"

"Are you Angelus?"

"Angel," he corrected. "And you are?"

"My name is Ginny, and this is Draco." She motioned to the blond next to her with a wave of her hand. "We're from The Coven."

Angel furrowed his brow. "You're witches?"

"She's a witch," Draco clarified. "I'm a wizard."

"Well, come in, then." Angel opened the door and stepped aside to allow them entrance. "Sit down and tell me what this visit is all about."

The two stepped inside and each took a seat on one of the sofas, smoothing out their Muggle clothes.

"The Coven directed us here to retrieve the Gem of Amarra," Ginny stated, getting straight to the point.

"You're a little late," Angel said with a smirk, pouring them each a glass of scotch. "The gem was destroyed years ago—by me."

"Actually, it wasn't." Draco accepted the drink and inclined his head in thanks. "The Gem of Amarra is a magical artefact that canonlybe destroyed by magic."

Angel took a sip of his drink and knitted his brow in contemplation. "Then how—?"

"I'm afraid your half-demon friend, Doyle, played a sleight of hand," Ginny explained in a soft voice, and Angel set down his drink.

"I don't understand."

"He kept the ring," Draco clarified bluntly, and Angel tilted his head to the side, examining the blond wizard, who looked an awful lot like Spike.

"How do you know all this?"

"He worked for us," Ginny said, as Draco set down his tumbler. "Unfortunately, the braggart died before he could return the ring to The Coven, so we're here to retrieve it."

Angel took in a deep breath and lifted his palms. "Feel free to search my home, but I'm not sure how you'll find it."

"Oh, we have our ways," Ginny said with a mischievous wink. "May we get started?"

"Of course." Angel stood up. "Can you tell me why this ring is so important to the Coven?"

"Oh, it's not just important to us," Ginny said, turning around. "It's important to your son."

**.**

_**Grr Argh!**_

* * *

**Prompt: **Crossover  
**Word Count:** 892

*References to this scene are taken from the fourth season of Buffy ('Harsh Light of Day') and the first season of Angel ('In the Dark'). In the HP world, this is Post-Hogwarts, anywhere between 2000-2004. Incidentally, the wizarding world in the UK refers to itself as The Coven to its Muggle partners, whether that be The Council of Watchers or the Slayer (according to me).


	15. Bedlam

**Warning:** This ficlet is rated M for the maturity of the subject matter, which also includes sexual innuendo and some slight naughtiness. XD

* * *

Bedlam

**.**

**.**

It was late afternoon when Draco awoke with the feeling that he had slept long enough. His body was sore, like he had spent the night doing crunches. The bed in which he lay wasn't his, although this didn't necessarily disturb him. He had woken up in strange girls' rooms before, though usually they were much bigger and fancier than this one and the girl was still naked and noodled up against him in bed. But there was no warm body next to him and the room he was in was little more than a broom cupboard.

Though small, the space was neatly-kept, furnished with a bureau, desk, bed, small table and a few chairs. On the bureau was an electric fan turning from one end of the wall to the other, bringing a cool breeze across his face and naked chest like a refreshing blast of cool water. By the window sat a red-haired girl in a white singlet and pink knickers. She was staring down at a chess game laid out on the small table in front of her, the magical pieces moving on their own.

While Draco wasn't familiar with the room, he recognised the girl's face instantly, though he couldn't place a name to her yet. It was as if he had known her for a very long time. Childhood friend? Wait, he didn't have any friends—not female ones, anyway.

Many memories were confused in his mind and it was like wading through molasses trying to retrieve them. He lay motionless in bed with his eyes open and his hands turned palm upwards. His hands were big but slender, delicate and pale, contrasting against the dark blue sheets. When he held them up to his face he saw that they were bruised and the veins were swollen, like he had been grasping at something hard for a long time.

He was drawing a blank on everything else, but the girl was familiar. Small frame, nice chest, red hair, freckles and soft brown eyes—soul-catchers. He knew her. If only the fog of his mind would clear and give him a name.

After a while he sat up and gave himself a thump on the side of the head. Pain was a great motivator, but it wasn't helping him right now. His memories were like pea soup, muddy and unappetizing, and her name refused to surface. When he moved, the redhead looked up quickly from the chess board and smiled at him. A mischievous smile. A pirate smile.

"Bout time you woke up, Malfoy."

Malfoy.

_Malfoy_.

It was the way she said his name; said with a touch of scorn and resentment, yet layered underneath all that was a sense of playfulness. A connection. They were supposed to be enemies but they weren't.

"Salazar, Weasley," Draco said, his voice cracked and unused. "Why didn't you wake me earlier? I'm so damn thirsty."

She grinned at him but said nothing, instead pointing to the pitcher of ice water on the desk. He stood up and walked over to it, pouring himself a glass and drinking in great panting gulps—standing naked in the middle of her room with his head thrown back and his eyes closed. He finished two more glasses before he took in a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders.

It was then that certain recollections came to him. Draco could remember drinking with Blaise and then being dragged out to a dance club, but he couldn't remember meeting or coming home with Ginny. What happened a little bit later, once in her bed, he clearly recalled. The way she moaned his name and bucked beneath him; the way she felt wrapped around him, raking her nails down his back and tearing it to shit.

Yes, he vividly remembered all that. She was the best shag he'd ever had.

Ginny slowly stood up from her game, setting her king down. Whoever she was playing had her in checkmate, or else she had simply given up. She reached him in several short strides. His eyes followed the long lines of her legs while her gaze was fixed below his navel at a certain bulbous member that was steadily rising to full mast. He almost forgot that he was still naked.

She placed her warm hands on his chest and he began to remember what else those hands had done to him last night. His eyes immediately went to her breasts (he was a breasts-man) to see the top half of her mounds exposed, milky-coloured and soft to the touch, if he recalled. He seriously wondered if he could convince her to go for another round. When his gaze finally left her cleavage and travelled up to her face, he saw the same lust in her eyes.

That would be a yes.

"I'm surprised you didn't kick me out last night," he said, leaning down to nip at the shell of her ear, "after you got what you wanted from me."

Ginny laughed a throaty laugh and leaned her head back, giving him access to her neck. "So I wanted a half decent orgasm and for you to end up passing out on top of me?"

"Exactly."

He smirked into the side of her neck, delivering open-mouthed kisses down her throat and then all the way back up to where her jaw met her ear. She juddered at his touch and his smirk turned smug. His fingers travelled to her shoulders, finding the straps of her singlet, and he began tugging downwards until her nipples were exposed to his greedy eyes.

He cupped her breasts firmly in his large hands and she moaned, her head thrown back in ecstasy. As his palms softly kneaded and his fingers brushed over sensitive and swollen nubs, Draco's erection suddenly became rather painful. That was when he realised his bladder was full.

Damn, the three glasses of water he had just drunk were doing a number with his bladder. He sighed despondently and reluctantly let go of her tits. He'd have to take a piss before he could properly shag her.

"What's the matter?" Ginny asked, palms sliding up his chest to his neck to pull him down for a kiss.

He bent down, slanting his mouth over hers. Their tongues duelled and the kissing intensified, his discomfort momentarily forgotten. Her breasts pressed into his chest and she stepped in even closer, pushing his painful erection up against his stomach, and his bladder revolted.

"I have to take a piss," he said suddenly, breaking off the kiss. "Where's the toilet?"

"Down the stairs."

"Don't go anywhere," he ordered, cupping himself. The pressure was almost unbearable.

Draco had considered throwing on a pair of briefs, since he didn't know who else lived in the house, but he couldn't find his clothes anywhere. He glanced over at Ginny, who was stuffing her breasts back into her singlet, and he silently swore to himself. Fuck clothes. He'd find the toilet, relieve himself, and then run back up and continue what he had earlier started.

Forgoing clothing, Draco reached for the doorknob, but his arm froze mid-air. He couldn't move. Why couldn't he move? Why couldn't he open the bloody door?

"W-why can't I leave?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder at Ginny. "Why can't I leave?"

The redhead smirked, her honey-brown eyes twinkling in the sunlight. "Because you need to wake up first."

**.**

Draco jolted awake, nearly tumbling off his chair in the process. The shock of the dream, its verity, had him feeling light-headed and vacant. And he still had to take a piss.

"Mr Malfoy?" The admittance nurse was standing in front of him, motioning to a tall orderly beside her. "The warden is waiting for you downstairs. Michael here will take you to her now."

Draco nodded and stood up, trying hard not to cup his aching balls. He wasn't sure if it was a result of back pressure from holding his bladder or if he was suffering blue balls from his dream. Probably both.

"Could you direct me to the lavatory first?"

Michael agreed and quickly led Draco to a locked water closet. After relieving himself and washing his hands, Draco stepped back outside and accompanied the orderly down the halls of Denbigh Asylum.

Denbigh was a foreboding place, the sort of horror story you read about built by a century of legends. The outward appearance of the asylum was that of a massive greying fortress; inside the hospital was less ominous but nevertheless depressing and decrepit. It wasn't that the place was unattended or dirty. In fact everything was very orderly, walls and floors bleached clean with a nauseating disinfectant scent to it. But accompanying the sterile smell, or rather underlining it, was a mouldy odour. It was like travelling through an old tunnel on a humid day.

It was a decaying smell.

The erratic blinking of the fluorescent lights overhead started to bother Draco's eyes, giving him a headache. He was beginning to suspect that sane men sent to work or visit here could easily go mad. He briefly wondered how the staff fared. Were they shifted out regularly, transferred in and out? Most lived on site, yet Draco couldn't fathom how long one could fully immerse himself in this sort of madness without eventually opening up a vein or trying to drown oneself in the lake.

The long hallway he was led down stopped at a T-junction and they turned right towards a set of ancient lifts, taking a wide berth of a man in a dirty evening gown. He was slumped on his knees, humming and grinning. Every now and then he would forget what he had been humming and the grin would fade and he would sob for a little bit. Then he'd forget he was crying and go on humming again.

Draco grimaced.

Patients like him, the humming and crying lot, were considered low risk; they were unlikely to hurt themselves or anyone else. The higher up you went, the lower the risk. Where the orderly was taking Draco was to the high-risk section. The patients housed there were likely to harm themselves and others. Mostly themselves. And because of that the majority of them had to be restrained and constantly monitored.

Draco and Michael set foot on the lift and rode it down into the bowels of the hospital. The floors below were not labelled as wards but as basement sections. Though the bottom two, sections B3 and B4, were often nicknamed the Bedlam Ward, or simply Bedlam.

When they finally reached the bottom, orderly and visitor got off the lift. Draco was finally able to adjust his eyes to the light, or lack thereof. The lighting down here was dimmer and slightly more tolerable, but the smell of mould and decay had increased tenfold, hardly masked by the bleach and ammonia. Here the patients were kept in locked cells, padded rooms, most laced in strait-jackets.

The warden, Dr Felicity Sloane, greeted Draco just outside section B3. She was a willowy witch in her early fifties, with silver-black hair done up in a bun and horn-rimmed glasses dangling from a gold chain hung around her neck. A set of keys jingled in her hand as she nodded her hello to Draco and the two walked off down the long grey mile towards their destination: section B4, which couldn't be reached by lift.

"She escaped the day before yesterday," Dr Sloane informed Draco brusquely. "We still don't know how she did it. It took us nearly twelve hours to find her."

"Where was she?" Draco asked, and the warden shook her head with a sigh.

"At the lake, skipping stones."

"Is the lake where she normally escapes to nowadays?"

"The lake or the gardens. Sometimes we find her in the lighthouse or in one of the mausoleums at the cemetery." Dr Sloane turned her head to look up at the blond. "You know she only escapes before _you_ come for a visit."

"It's all a chess game to her," Draco said with a shrug. "I'm just a pawn."

The warden sniffed, not entirely sure what private references Draco was making. She never questioned his relationship with her patient. All she knew was that Draco wanted something from her patient, something she held in her brain, but Dr Sloane had earlier suspected that these visits were as much personal as they were profession. Still, she said nothing about it, nor did she restrict his visitation rights.

"Well, this is the first time we've had her held in Bedlam before you arrived," the warden said with a hint of pride. "We had to take her to Tom's and restrain her."

They began their decent down the narrow set of stairs that led into a root cellar of sorts, which was what was known as B4. In the Bedlam ward the fourth basement floor only held one patient. The cell itself was nicknamed Tom's.

Once they reached the bottom of the landing, Draco could feel the entire floor vibrate with security wards. Magic was strong here, stronger than he had ever felt at Hogwarts. The walls were lit with magical sconces and Dr Sloane used her keys like a wand, unlocking one intricate ward after another until they reached the door of the cell, Tom's cell.

Tom o' Bedlam.

The window to the cell was small and the room inside was dark, so dark Draco couldn't make out anyone or anything. The keys jingled in the warden's hands as she singled out a golden skeleton key and placed it in the lock. Pushing the door open, Dr Sloane snapped her fingers to turn on the lights. When the sconces on the cell walls lit, Draco's eyes immediately went to the bed. But no one was sitting on it. In fact, there was no one in the room at all.

Baffled, the warden furtively glanced around the tiny room before yelling for an orderly. Draco, meanwhile, stepped into the room and sighed in annoyance. According to Dr Sloane, no witch or wizard had ever escaped Tom's cell. But the obvious lack of a patient and no means of escape were unmistakable: there were no windows and only one door. Open restraints lay on the single bed, untouched and unused.

"Well," Draco drawled, pulling out his pocket watch and stopping the time, "looks like Weasley's still missing."

Ginny Weasley, Bedlam's one and only escape-artist, had vanished.

* * *

**Author's notes:** Long time no see, right? This ficlet is a teaser for a DG fic that Ann (MemoriesFade) and I wanted to co-write a while back but never had the time. :/ It was inspired by one of Kim's prompts: 'Ginny has been kept in a mental asylum for the past five years. Draco comes to visit her because he believes her mind holds a secret that he wants'. Still, I really liked the dark/mysterious atmosphere of the prompt so I might end up writing it someday... if anyone else is willing to read it.


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